


Epilogue

by strangeallure



Series: It's the Great Mushroom, Charlie Brown [6]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Conversations, Date Night, Dinner, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Restaurants, Tuxedos, mycelial shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: Canon-divergent from the end of 1x13 "What's Past Is Prologue".Hugh is back from the dead. Paul has planned the perfect evening. Together, they'll make it work.





	Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> **Series premise** : Paul and the Discovery crew are trapped inside a mycelial network still battling the effects of Terran contamination. They try to ride out the infection, waiting for the network to heal itself. Meanwhile, they are thrown into ever-changing situations they can only survive by working together. Stories stand alone, but tie into a larger arc.
> 
> I am explicitly **not** thanking frangipani because she said she doesn't want me to.
> 
> This fic features Paul in a tuxedo. If that's something you might be interested in, [my tumblr post](http://drstrangewillseeyounow.tumblr.com/post/180593966491/epilogue-star-trek-discovery) provides a reference image or two.

This bowtie is way too tight. Paul pushes two fingers between the black fabric and his shirt collar to loosen the damn thing.

Why were these ever popular on earth? Were people trying to strangle themselves to get out of going to the opera?

No, that’s not fair.

This opera date was Paul’s idea, after all.

They’ve been through so much. _Hugh_ has been through so much. They deserve a perfect night out. No Starfleet, no dying, no mycelial network. For Hugh, that means a fancy dinner, four never-ending hours of Kasseelian opera, and drinks after. So that’s exactly what Paul will give him.

Even dressing up in an old-fashioned tuxedo was Paul’s choice. According to Hugh, they’ve been making a comeback among Opera enthusiasts, and Paul knows Hugh enjoys it when he dresses up. When Paul learned that there was a specialty tailor shop on Starbase 46, it seemed too good an opportunity to pass up.

He’s glad he didn’t have time to get the tuxedo a day early, though. If the tailor hadn’t been there to help him knot this tie, he’d never have managed to be this well put together. Why did people in the past always have to make things harder for themselves?

Paul has to admit, however, that he looks quite sharp, even as he pulls anxiously at his collar.

He and Hugh have been together for so long, and yet this dinner – less than a week after they jump-started the mycelial network, so to speak – feels almost like a first date. A new beginning. Paul's waiting in front of an Earth-Andorian fusion restaurant that came highly recommended. With the buzz of the Starbase's central plaza all around him, dressed up like he rarely is, he's aware of his palms being clammy, his mouth dry.

He resists the urge to comm Hugh, who’d warned Paul that his appointment might run over. There’s no reason to be nervous.

A tap on his shoulder startles Paul. He turns, then spins around.

“How do you always do this?” He tries to sound exasperated. Hugh has this knack for sneaking up on people. It's strange because once you know he’s there, he has such presence you can’t believe you’d ever miss his arrival.

“It’s a secret,” Hugh whispers conspiratorially.

He takes a step back and looks Paul over. His eyebrows rise, and a sly grin tugs at his beautiful mouth. Paul’s heart beats in his throat and his Adam’s apple feels constricted by his collar and tie.

“Don’t you clean up nice?” Hugh says. The unabashed appreciation in his eyes, his voice makes Paul’s cheeks heat up.

Paul grins, lopsided. “Thank you.” He takes Hugh’s hand and leads him towards the restaurant. “I thought you might like it.”

Hugh’s thumb strokes across Paul’s knuckles as he follows along. “I do. I always do.”

After they’ve ordered the sampler for two, Hugh looks at him, head tilted. “Somehow, this feels a lot like a first date.”

He should have known Hugh would call out the unusual energy between them. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.” It’s reassuring that they’re still on the same wavelength. “I’m just not sure why.”

Hugh reaches for his hand on the table. “In a way it is, right?”

Paul swallows. There are so many things he wants to say, but he can’t articulate any of them. They haven’t done a lot of talking yet, at least with each other. After endless debriefings with medical and command, they were too exhausted to do much more than brush their teeth and go to sleep. And the Federation is still at war with the Klingons, which keeps both of them buried in work. At least the cloak-breaking algorithm is working. It’s a great asset to Starfleet, helping them gain back ground. Probably the only good thing coming out of the alternate Lorca’s command.

“In a way, yeah,” is what Paul finally settles on.

“I don’t think I’ve told you, not in so many words.” Hugh takes a deep breath, his broad shoulders lifting under his light gray shirt. “Thank you. For saving my life.”

Paul’s brows knit together. “You are the one who saved me.” Disbelief colors his voice. “Without you, I would have been lost.” The truth in his statement is painfully audible. He can’t believe he didn’t say it out loud before. “You saved everyone, Hugh. Discovery would never have made it out of the network without you.” And that’s not all. He squeezes Hugh’s hand. “Hell, the whole of reality might have ceased to exist without you. Without you helping me, guiding me.”

It seems like Hugh wants to deny Paul’s remark, but then he stops himself. “Okay.” His eyes find Paul’s. “Let’s agree that the both of us _together_ saved everyone.” He makes a show of looking around the restaurant. They’re too early for the dinner crowd because they’ll have a transport to the Kasseelian opera house to catch later, so it’s mostly empty.

“You’re welcome, universe,” Hugh says into the space. An Andorian couple shoot them a brief look, but then go back to their meal.

Paul’s throat is tight, but this time it has nothing to do with his tie. “I’m just so glad you came back.” His voice sounds brittle in his own ears.

Hugh’s voice, however, is warm and full and certain. “Always.”

Paul surprises himself with a chuckle. It tastes bitter on his tongue. “And yet you tried to prepare me for living without you.” He presses his lips together. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.” There’s so much tension in his neck, his shoulders, his chest - like his body wants to curl in on itself, shield him from the truth. “How you helped me let go of my anger,” his lids squeeze shut for a long moment, “my guilt.”

“Paul-“ Hugh says it like there’s more to come, but then doesn’t continue.

“I get it.” There’s too much water in his mouth, he has to swallow it down. “You were right.” On some level, Paul always knew that no extent of grief and loss would justify giving up and abandoning his crew, his friends. “Even if it hadn’t worked, even if-” he doesn’t want to say it, but after one deep breath he goes on, “even if you wouldn’t have come back, I had to move forward.” He blinks insistently. “I couldn’t let the universe, the multiverse, die because I can’t live without you.”

Hugh’s eyes are bright, his hand patting Paul’s across the table.

“Oh Paul,” he starts, but is interrupted by their waiter serving an impressive assortment of small dishes. Perfect timing.

The moment passes and they start eating, sharing the food between them.

The meal is ... not exactly Paul’s favorite. At least it's different from replicator food and its relentless uniformity, everything tasting exactly the same every time. He almost appreciates some of the weirder textures, even though the Nargossa petals taste practically raw to him. Some of the spices, however, he has trouble making peace with.

“Hey, this is really good.” Hugh lifts one of the bowls. “Want to try?”

“What is it?”

“How should I know?” Hugh laughs. Good point. The experimental reputation of the chef is part of why Paul chose this place. Even most menu items that are supposedly from Earth didn’t sound familiar. “It tastes like seafood, though,” Hugh assures him.

During his academy years, Paul developed a predilection for seafood, so he eagerly opens his mouth. Hugh is usually a good judge of what he might enjoy.

Hugh feeds him a spoonful and he's right; it reminds Paul of chowder.

He hums. “I like that.”

Hugh grins. “I thought you might,” he says and hand Paul the rest of the dish. It’s a shame the one thing he likes is severed in a bowl as small as all the others.

Hugh spears something crunchy with his fork and eats it whole. It might be a deep-fried insect. Casually, he adds, “So, on a scale from one to ten, how much do you hate it here?”

“What?” Paul almost spits out his chowder. “I don’t.” He looks down onto the barely-touched bowls and plates in front of him.

“I appreciate that you want to do something special for me,” Hugh says in a tone that’s both firm and fond. Paul knows it quite well. “But next time, pick a place we’ll both be happy with. Creole maybe, or Scandinavian. You know I love that, too.”

“I just thought-” Paul starts, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “I wanted tonight to be perfect.”

“I know,” Hugh’s voice is soft, “but if I want to be adventurous with my food, I’ll ask Airiam – or my mothers.” He grins. And yeah, there is no doubt from where Hugh got his drive to try every cuisine in the galaxy. His mothers are wonderful people, but Paul has learned the hard way to ask and sniff before he eats anything they offer.

“Actually, Airiam recommended this place,” he admits sheepishly.

Hugh laughs in a way that makes his eyes crinkle, exposing both rows of teeth. “How about we get out of here?” He finds Paul’s hand, pulling him up without waiting for a reply.

“But the food-“

“I saw a bento place not too far from here.” His voice brokers no argument.

Half an hour later, Paul feels much better. Both of them are leaning against the back of a bench, sitting close, their arms touching. Paul’s pleasantly full with delicious salmon and rice, and maybe a deep-fried dumpling or two.

“We better hurry.” Part of him would much rather stay, relaxed and comfortable with Hugh by his side.

“We still have time.”

“But the transport will take off soon,” Paul makes himself protest.

“We have five more minutes. Trust me.” Hugh pecks Paul on the cheek before nestling himself into his side.

Some time later, Hugh is leading Paul towards a part of the station nowhere near the docking bay. Paul has the distinct feeling that he’s missing something here, but whenever he asks, all he gets is Hugh grinning knowingly. “I know what I’m doing.”

Eventually, they reach the base’s entertainment decks. Everything’s loud and colorful, holo projections and flesh-and-blood promoters vying for attention, singing the praises of their attractions. In between the clubs, bars and casinos, throngs of people from all across the quadrant are weaving their way through the promenade, some quietly observing from the sidelines, some loudly throwing themselves into the fray. Paul feels tension build in his spine. The noise, the smells, the garish projections - it’s a little too much.

He tries one more time: “If we’re missing La Bohème, it’s not my fault.”

“We’re not missing anything.”

Hugh pulls him inside an unassuming place, trading bright lights for soothing dimness. As the door closes behind them, the din of the outside world fades, replaced by soft background music. Paul’s muscles relax. This is better.

The establishment is made up to look like an old-fashioned earth pub. There are tabs dispensing beer and soda, upholstered green booths and all kinds of memorabilia attached to the walls. They even have darts and a small stage. It reminds him of the place where his uncle sometimes has ‘jam sessions’ with his band, just as small and cozy. Paul likes it instantly.

“But what about the opera?” he asks, although he’d much rather stay now that he knows this place exists. But tonight isn’t about him. It’s about showing Hugh how much he appreciates him, about creating a perfect evening, one that memories are made of.

Instead of an answer, Hugh asks, “You know what happens at the end of La Bohème?”

Paul doesn’t, exactly, but he’s been with Hugh long enough to pick up on a few things. “It’s opera, so I’m guessing at least one protagonist dies.”

Hugh laughs, a full-on body laugh. “You pay more attention than I give you credit for.”

Paul takes a small bow. “I try.”

“Anyway.” Hugh gets closer, his arms winding around Paul’s waist under the tuxedo jacket. “That’s not what I’m in the mood for tonight.”

Paul’s hands settle on Hugh’s hips and he tilts his head, intrigued. “No?”

“No.” Hugh’s eyes fix on his. “Tonight, I want to focus on _you_ , on us. I want to drink and talk and laugh.” He moves closer, tightening his hold. “And I want to kiss you. A lot.” He does just that, slow and sure. His lips curve in an intimate expression. “Without people disapprovingly clearing their throats because we’re distracting them from the aria.”

Paul chuckles. “But what about the opera tickets?”

“There aren’t any.”

“But you said-“

Hugh cuts him off. “No. _You_ said, we should go to the opera. _I_ said I already had tickets.” There’s a smirk growing on his face. “I never said they were for La Bohème.”

Unbelievable. “I didn’t know you needed tickets to get into a pub.” 

“Smartass.” Hugh rolls his eyes. “They’re for the band that will play here later.”

“Live music?” Paul loves the kind of live performance a place like this would host. Music is something of a family hobby, so Paul’s been attending small concerts from an early age. Even though he’s not the best with crowds, he likes the sense of community, everyone coming out to share an experience. It’s a good way to be part of a crowd without too much need for conversation.

Hugh’s fingertips stroke up and down along his spine, the touch warm and familiar. “It’s no Beatles cover band, but they do play a lot of old stuff between newer material.”

Paul’s face breaks out into a wide grin. How did he get this lucky? He tilts his head and moves in to kiss Hugh. Running his tongue along the seam of Hugh’s mouth to coax it open, he makes the kiss a little hotter and wetter than the first.

“I think I’m seriously overdressed for this place,” he murmurs against Hugh’s lips.

“I think you look delectable.” Hugh’s gaze is hot, his tone more of a purr.

Paul still opts to take off the jacket and bowtie, rolls up his sleeves and unbuttons his collar. Instantly, he feels more like himself.

Hugh gives him a very thorough once-over. “I like that look, too.” He grabs Paul’s head, pulling him close and kissing him deeply, fingers raking over Paul’s scalp as his tongue explores his mouth.

When he steps away, he ruffles Paul’s hair playfully, a gleam in his eyes. “Just making sure your hair matches the new look.”

They find a corner booth in the back of the pub, sliding in next to each other. Soon, drinks and popcorn appear on the table, and conversation flows easily between them. Somehow, they’re always touching, even when raising their pints or turning towards the stage once the set starts. It feels good, natural. It feels right.

At some point, the band plays a respectable rendition of ‘A Hard Day’s Night’, and the way Hugh looks at him when they do makes Paul think it’s no coincidence.

It’s a pretty perfect evening.

And later that night, when he gets Hugh alone, he feels much, much better than just alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Woo-hoo, my first series! This was a challenge, but also a lot of fun to write. Ultimately, I'm very happy with it. Also: Paul Stamets is an intergalactic treasure.
> 
> Like all my stories, this is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
> 
>  **Feedback** : short comments, long comments, questions, constructive criticism, "<3" as extra kudos, reader-reader interaction
> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta)  
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